The Rope
by WordlessWriter
Summary: "We have lost everything, our power, our strength, our money, our people... Everything. Now it's time you make up for those losses." Even after the war is won, no matter what side, there is always something lost and there is always that certain person who comes back to take what has been lost, to take back what was theirs.


**May 8, 1945  
**

I was finally done. They were waiting, approaching from behind and taking me by surprise. Something hard struck the back of my head and I fell to my knees. With my head covered with rough canvas, and trussed up like a pig to the slaughter, I lay on the hard boards of a cart, listening to their voices as I strained in vain to break free. I was filled with dread at what they might have in mind for me.

The cart bumped and rattled for what seemed an age, coming to a stop quite suddenly. They dragged me across hard ground, pushing me down against what felt like the trunk of a tree.

"Cut him loose," a voice ordered.

"What? You must be crazy Alfred," another hissed.

"I don't know what your worried about! There's only one of him and there's five of us," the first voice pointed out.

"We agreed, didn't we? So do it! Cut him loose and take off the hood," someone ordered impatiently. "We'll get the torches lit."

My limbs stiff, I slowly struggled to my feet, rubbing my painful wrists and blinking in the darkness, wondering if I should make a run for it. But I had no idea where I was, and it could be dangerous roaming around in the dark on the fells. I knew I would have to stand and fight.

Four torches were lit and pushed into the ground, throwing a light over the area and the group of hooded men, their bodies strangely distorted in the flickering flames.

They looked fearsome and I was scared shitless, but couldn't let them know it. "I've got to hand it you, you certainly have made a well thought out plan, despite all of you being dummkopfs." I said mockingly, to hide my fear.

Without warning, the tallest, strode forward and whacked me viciously on the side of the head with the side of a lead pipe, the blow hazing me, but I stayed on my feet.

"You piss me off, Germaniya," the attacker growled, his anger obviously at boiling point. "If I had my way I'd break every bleeding bone in your body."

I grunted, as I leant against the tree for support. Bleary eyed, I glanced at each of my assailants in turn.

"What else can you expect from a pig but a grunt," one jeered.

"If this is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny," I protested, as I rubbed my throbbing skull. "You cowardly dummkopfs. Just remember, Germany never forgets.'

Not one was bigger or stronger than me, admittedly, but they had me surrounded, their eyes full of hate. Hate that made them strong. Loathing and resentment for all I'd handed out over the years as their fellow Allie, which were their livelihood ...retaliation for the injustice I'd showered upon them and on others ...vengeance for the death of family and friends.

I knew I couldn't handle them all. Maybe two or three at a time, but five were too many, even for me. And it would be no use to shout out, for who would hear me? And if anyone did, I doubted they would come to my rescue. I stretched to my full height, stuck out my broad chest and raised my great fists, with eyes flashing from one to the other, my muscles taut and ready.

"If any one of you thinks you can take me on then step forward. Come on, two at a time would be fair. That'll give you a chance," I boasted.

But not one would take that chance. I had a reputation as a hard and vicious fighter, a man who fought bare-knuckled and ruled with an iron-fist, a country who has conquered the majority of Europe, but I didn't stand a chance against five of them.

They in together, slowly, unity making them powerful; I hit with iron-hard fists, throwing a punch that caught one on the chest, the blow knocking the wind from out of his body and sending him staggering backward to land slap-bang on his backside.

"Come on, you whimpering dummkopf. Get to your feet," I jeered. "I wouldn't be beaten."

"Come on, keep together, lads, and remember, use your weapon not your fists. And try not to get any tell-tale cuts or bruises. That'd be a real give-a-way."

They moved in quickly then, shoulder to shoulder. They gave me no room to swing my fists, no space to barge with my rock-hard head, but whacked me over and over with cut-down pickaxe handles.

My eyes and mouth widened at each stunning blow, until I went down on my knees, suspended there, feeling surprise and sheer amazement at what was happening to me. Me; Germany,with my bull-like strength, who had never been afraid of anyone, notorious for walking away from fights, leaving the other man out for the count.

"I'll ...I'll ...cut your... throats for this... when I …I get free," I gasped between breaths.

Grabbing their chance, they delivered blow after blow whilst I was down, splitting my lip, shattering an already crooked nose, pummeling away until I was almost senseless, bloodied like a slaughtered pig. I could taste blood and my tongue was hanging out like a mad dog. Just as I thought they had finished, the canvas hood was pulled over my head again and fastened tightly around my neck. Frantic with fear, I gulped for air and started yelling, my terrified cries muffled by the hood.

"How does it feel now?" one jeered breathlessly, shaken by his own physical violence. "You bloody animal; sacking poor Francis just for taking a day off to see to his wife and sick child!"

"Shh! The less said the better," someone warned quietly. "That's what… what we agreed. We've only to give him bits of rough treatment ...frighten him the like; nothing more, nothing less."

I heard what was being said and wasn't afraid then. So ...they'd dared to beat hell out of me, but they wouldn't dare do away with me.

"Well, we can change our minds, can't we?" says another voice, "Hands up who thinks the piece of rubbish is innocent."

There was a hushed quiet for a moment.

"No one! So all of you in favor of a guilty verdict then?"

"Get the rope and throw it over the branch; the one above his head."

"What? What're you going to do, for ...for pity's sake? What're you going to do?" I gasped, petrified what the answer might be.

''Hang you! You bloody bugger," came the quick reply.

"Christ! You wouldn't dare," I cried, stricken with alarm. "You ...you'll ...never ...get away with it."

"And you'll never know, will you?"

I felt the rope pulled roughly round my neck and had visions of swinging from a branch of a tree; my blood ran cold with terror.

"W..wait! Listen! Listen! I'll give …give you anything ...anything you want," I screeched, but they were in no mood to listen.

"In the name of God, man ...we're talking about lost lives here. Not just grown men, but the lives of young lads, who were captured. The slave labor that's mostly under twelve. And from the camps, as if the poor little buggers haven't suffered enough. All of them now buried under piles of rubble. Money won't bring them back."

"B..but providin' the camps kept running smoothly with …without extra costs, the Führer does …doesn't care where the labor comes from."

"That's not what we heard, you bloody bastard. You can't talk your way outta this."

"But it …it's happening everywhere, not …not just here in Europe," I persisted.

Gasping and struggling this way and that, I tried in vain to lunge out at my tormentors, but was weakened by the beating. As the rope tightened and my neck stretched ...my feet slowly lifted off the ground. In terror of my life, I tried to scream, but could only gasp for breath, my arms and legs flailing helplessly about, the shock sending warm liquid running down the inside of my legs as I urinated.

"That's enough. Let him down. We don' want the bastard to go too quick."

The rope suddenly loosened and I fell with a thud, yelping like a wounded animal as my painful joints made contact with the hard ground. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, I was afraid to move lest they string me up again.

"Our power and money was stolen away from us," I heard someone say in a choked voice.

"Each one a life you helped destroy," yelled another.

My hands went to my throat, pulling and clawing at the rope, trying frantically to loosen it. "I ...was only ...f..following... orders…" I whimpered my voice grating.

"You're not such a big shot now, are you, Germaniya?"

"We're going to erase your sorry ass, Germany."

I sat back awkwardly on my hunches, my arms held high, my hands clasped together and pleaded with them. "What do you w...want? Tell me. Money? If it's money you ...you want I've g..got money. It's hidden be…behind a brick in the fire …fireplace," I croaked.

"No amount of money will make up for the loss of life through your greed. Although it might help some of the widows; But your finished Déguó, we're going to bury you deep in quicklime. By the time spring comes, nothing of you'll remain. No trace of you'll ever be found."

"I think my idea's the best. Drop the bastard down in one of his own disgusting torture camps for those rats to make a meal of him."

"I don't think that would do the rats any good."

"L..listen! I'm beg …begging..." I screeched, holding my arms high. "See…down on my knees." I tried to clear my throat but could only swallow painfully. "The money's ...y...yours. Anything. Just... just ...let me go."

"I vote we hang and get it over with," a deep voice stated, obviously enjoying every minute of my agony. "Nothing can make up for the loss of family, or for all lies dished out over the years. All through cutting corners to make a bit extra to line in his pockets. He deserves to hang." stated the tall one.

I started to weep uncontrollably. "That … that w..was an ...an accident. "How could I …I know the …they were that horrible? They were killed by accident…by accident. You've got to believe me."

"You were warned there was to be no more punishment, no more war, Germany! But you went ahead. All the loss of life could have been avoided had you stopped the torture. We can't allow you to get away with it," one of the men stated.

"But I'm ...n..not old ...old enough ...to die."

"Neither were those poor who were put into hard suffering labor. If you're bloody old enough to do murder, you're old enough to hang. That's what I say," someone jeered.

They showed no mercy, stringing me up twice more before finally giving up. I felt sure I was going to die.

* * *

I came to, slumped in my chair in my cottage. It was daylight. Had it all been a nightmare? No, it had been real. I must have passed out with the horror of it all.

Then I tried to move. I yelped like a wounded dog as red-hot pain shot up my neck into my skull when I glanced up at the clock on the mantle. It was just turned six o'clock. It seemed a lifetime since I had first walked through the door and hell found me.

Like a wounded beast, I was forced to scamper away to hide myself from prying eyes, living less than half a life, and now, even the half I clung to seems to be slipping through my fingers like crumbled winter leaves. I know that I'd gone down the wrong road when reaching for a bottle. Drink was slowly sucking me dry, pickling my brain, and when it was finished with me there would be nothing left but a shriveled, useless old man. But inside, my hatred festers ferociously with a powerful force.

Those cowardly ass-holes had dragged me down, taken everything from me: my army, my money and my strength …everything! My rage and hunger for vengeance seems to generate its own peculiar strength and that very strength keeps me going.

I suffer from a strange lightness in the head, and a pain in my chest that's quite unaccountable. In fact, I feel positively ill, experiencing a chill and oppressive sensation, an undefined dread. My illness always seems to worsen as night draws in. Dreadful things are associated with darkness. The constant horror is becoming insufferable – I'm loathing closing my eyes even, for fear of the rope. I can still feel it about my neck, squeezing the very breath from out of my body.

For the present, my preoccupation lies in keeping hell at bay, but in this pitiable condition, I feel that the time will sooner or later come when I must abandon life and reason together in the struggle with the grim phantasm - madness - that hovers impatiently to destroy me. That very thought sets me off trembling in every limb, and my calloused hands constantly go to my throat that has never recovered from the torture inflicted on it.

But I swear, I'll make them suffer, for I've found out who they were. I'll destroy everything they own before their very eyes, torture and slowly break them, one at a time. I'll work myself up to do it, but my thoughts are confused to how I will bring this about. I just need a little more time. It will all come together when the time is right, and I'm going to enjoy every single minute.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this and hopefully can tell who is talking. I didn't differentiate it enough though you can tell some of them are Britain, maybe I don't know.  
If you didn't get it, Germany surrendered on May 8****th****; this story revolves around the revenge of the Allies for destroying their power and creating chaos of World War 2.**

**I hope you enjoyed my first attempt.**

**Déguó- Chinese word for Germany  
Germaniya- Russian Word for Germany  
****dummkopfs- German for 'a stupid person'**


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